Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(6)

Now, I’m Don Orlov.

The idea of Misha is dead.

“Speak freely,” I tell him.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful in moving onto business so quickly in your time of grief, but there are some things that need discussing. Our position now is fragile. We need to re-establish our strength and fortify our defenses.”

“What we need is to hit back,” Klim hisses before I can answer. “Petyr Ivanov killed our don. That is an open declaration of war. It must be met in kind.”

“So what you’re proposing is a suicide mission,” Konstantin interjects.

Klim’s eyes narrow. As the eldest man in the room, no doubt he’s not thrilled about being questioned by the newest member of the circle. “What I’m proposing is necessary.”

“What you’re proposing is stupid,” Konstantin mocks.

“Enough.” I don’t even have to raise my voice. The moment I speak, the room falls silent and every pair of eyes turns to me. “You are both right. We cannot let this go unanswered. But the Ivanovs are too strong at the moment. It’s the reason Petyr made such a bold move against us. He knew he had the upper hand.”

“So what do you suggest?” Klim asks.

“I suggest a shadow war. We fight quietly. We peel open their defenses with scalpels, not swords. We buy up their resources. We bring them to their knees without them even knowing it. And when they’re sufficiently weakened, that’s when we cut off their heads.”

The men exchange glances.

Isaak Egorov leans forward. “What you’re describing sounds like a hostile takeover.”

I nod. “That is precisely what I’m describing. We will dismantle them from the inside. The most difficult thing will be having patience.”

“It will also give us time to shore up our defenses,” Yuri muses. “Sir, if I may be so bold, perhaps one

of the best ways to do that would be… with a strategic partnership. The kind that demonstrates the extent of our reach. An unassailable show of resources.”

For a moment, I wonder why everyone is looking at me. Then it clicks in my head what Yuri is suggesting.

A marriage.

My expression falls flat. “No.”

“Don Orlov—”

“I just buried my brother. I’m a little full-up on ceremony at the moment.”

“Not now, of course,” Klim demurs. “But… in the near future, perhaps? A marriage alliance will not only bring us added strength; it will also ensure an heir.”

Jesus, we are already talking about heirs? It makes me sick to my stomach. My brother should be here, right fucking here— but he’s not. He’s dead, and the weight of the world is crushing me.

A mere three days ago, all of this would have seemed like a hilarious fever dream.

Now, it’s all sickeningly real.

“My brother’s son—”

“Is a threat to you,” Yuri cuts in firmly. “Unless you would consider Cyrille Orlov as a bride…?

Marrying her would counteract the possibility of a splinter faction rallying around the boy.”

I look around the table, jaw clenched tight. Konstantin is the only one who remains pointedly silent. If they’d brought this up with him beforehand, he’d have been able to warn them not to mention it.

“You want me to marry my newly widowed sister-in-law as a political ploy?” My voice is low, gravelly, dangerous.

“There will be men within the Bratva who wish to throw their support behind the son of the deceased don, not the brother,” Klim warns carefully.

His implication is obvious. Schism. Mutiny. Civil fucking war.

I grimace. “The son in question is currently nine years old. If they wish to do that, they’re welcome to.

They’ll find him less interested in hostile takeovers and more interested in video games.”

“Sir—”

I slam my fist down on the table and the room falls silent a second time. “Let me make this very fucking clear: my nephew is not a threat. My sister-in-law is not a pawn. I will not use either one of them in this game—and I will not take a wife. This is the last I wish to hear about it.”

I look around the table, searching for signs of dissent or disapproval. I’m met with nothing but acceptance.

I nod, satisfied. “Our goal now is simple: take down the Ivanov Bratva. Once we do, Petyr Ivanov

will have nowhere to hide. Then he will finally be made to answer for my brother’s murder.”

Konstantin clears his throat. “So once the mourning period is over—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “There will be no mourning period. We start immediately. We start now.”





4





PAIGE


Silver Eyes is watching me closely as I sit. He took the position in the corner booth with his back against the wall. I note how his eyes flick to each of the exits quickly, as if measuring the distance, calculating probabilities, planning his next moves.

Anthony used to do that exact same thing. He’d refuse to sit anywhere he couldn’t see everything happening in the room. I used to call him paranoid.

On Silver Eyes, though, it just makes me wonder what kind of dangers I’m not seeing.